The Diary of a Provincial Potions Master
by Lady Alice Kyteler
Summary: Snape, Hermione ... domestic bliss? A record of daily life at Hogwart's after the War, as seen through the eyes of the recently-married Potions Master.
1. Default Chapter

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The Diary of a Provincial Potions Master

Disclaimer: The characters and settings belong to J. K. Rowling; the Provincial Lady, and her excellent Diaries, belong to E. M. Delafield. I thought it would be fun to mix the two together … like an experimental Potion.

_August 31st, 2003_ - Unusual lightness of mood, due in no small part to continued absence of imbecile students from the Halls of Hogwarts, leads me to remark to Minerva over lunch that the Weather is Nice today. She looks startled at this, as well she may, but replies darkly that she Supposes I have been Drinking again. Reflect that although I have known Minerva for many, many years, her current opinion of me depends entirely upon the fact that, fuelled by rather too much excellent champagne and natural excitement immediately following my marriage to Hermione only a few weeks ago, I was unfortunately moved to kiss my elderly colleague, soundly and at great length. Can only hope she never discovers that dear Hermione (rather fortunately) found this extremely amusing and continues to tease me with requests that I kiss her Properly, Like you did Minerva.

Am drawn from this musing by the fact that Albus has got to his feet and is gesturing for Silence.

Subsequent speech may contain countless gems of wit and originality, but all is a blur to me after opening line, to the effect that Today is the Last Day of the Holidays. Am instantly struck dumb with Horror.

Hermione steers me silently back to our quarters after the meal; upon entering them, she becomes Busy and I find myself, in an incredibly short space of time, comfortably ensconced in armchair in front of blazing fire, with a small whiskey in my hand. Should very much like to know how she achieved this.

She then proceeds to inform me that:

A) It's not the end of the world;

B) I'll enjoy getting back to teaching after a refreshing break, and

C) At least I'll be able to give my Speech again.

Am unmoved by A and treat B with the contempt it deserves, but am forced to admit that C is not a Bad Thing.

(Query - Is it possible that my brain has been addled by new-found experience of Married Life? Am quite sure that, before we married, even dear Hermione, or Albus himself, would not have been able to talk me round so efficiently.

(Answer - all too evidently, a resounding Yes.)

Not unpleasant afternoon ensues, during which I rehearse The Speech - newly inserted dramatic pause between "Subtle Science" and "Exact Art" sounds well, and sure to be a success - and Hermione disappears behind the Daily Prophet. 


	2. Chapter 2

_1st September _- Day begins well, with peaceful morning in rooms. Ask Hermione to Hear the Speech, which she does with commendable, and unusual, lack of argument; afterwards she remarks, somewhat inexplicably, that the Speech has always Turned her On.

Entirely pleasant interlude ensues, despite initial reluctance on my part - 11am surely very odd hour for such activities? - but eventually am forced to admit that dear Hermione can be most persuasive when she wishes.

Emerge from rooms in much improved frame of mind, and instantly fall headlong over minuscule specimen of childhood, wearing very large, and very new, robes. Am unable to contain entirely unintentional "Oh Hell"; do, however, manage to add "-p" on seeing disapproving looks from both Hermione and Minerva, who stands behind child with arms firmly folded. Am fully aware that neither is convinced and, furthermore, that child is listening with look of unholy Glee. Should be prepared to bet that child will be Sorted into Gryffindor. (Bet proves redundant when child is revealed to be nephew of Minerva.)

Proceed to Great Hall for customary Welcome Feast and am, as always, appalled by sheer volume of noise produced by children, including those in upper years who should, in my opinion, Know Better.

Sorting ensues - can clearly hear midget McGonnagall nephew remark to new Housemates that he Heard a Teacher Swear, and Scowl at him, but he remains oblivious - Albus makes customary Welcome Speech - Forest Forbidden, also Duelling in Hallways, but Quidditch to continue; List of Banned Objects available for inspection in large suite of rooms devoted to that purpose; etc, etc. Drift into happy recollection of the day's more pleasant moments but am sharply recalled to myself by Albus' declaration that We must Congratulate Professors Granger and Snape on their recent Marriage.

Should very, very much like to be able to forget the next few minutes.

(Query: Would it be possible to brew a Potion, suitable for discreet inclusion in morning pumpkin-juice, to remind all present that being a War Hero does not make me a Nice Person?)

(Answer; undoubtedly, Yes, but am only too aware that the benefits of being a W. H. (continuing life, full use of all limbs, universal adulation, the Love of a Good Women, and no doubt many more) have made me become, if not Nice, then at least Tolerable; shall, however, pursue the idea, if only for the sake of learned article in Potions Today.)

Feast proceeds without further excitement and am much relieved when able to retire to quarters, remove shoes, which have been pinching, and go to bed in peace. Peace is broken by Hermione getting into bed with unbidden, and entirely untrue, remark that It's nice to have the Kids back, isn't it? Should very much like to respond to this with the contempt it deserves, but unfortunately am completely sodden with sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

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September 2nd - First day of Teaching.

All fifth-years bound to fail O.W.L.'s, if today's performance is anything to go by. Ditto for seventh-years and N.E.W.T.'s. Cannot, at this moment in time, find it in myself to care very much.

Last class of day proves to be first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors; Speech is most effective, but dramatic pause perhaps not an improvement as it is filled by the clear and bell-like tones of midget McGonnagall nephew, claiming that It was Him that Swore. Pause becomes extended as I Scowl, and then Sneer; but Speech is, eventually, completed without further interruption.

Am inexplicably exhausted on return to rooms, and much inclined to sit in armchair and Do Nothing, until dear Hermione suggests, and then performs, a Massage. This proves to be unexpectedly stimulating and I find myself sufficiently revived to consume an excellent dinner in the Great Hall, and discuss virtues of Potions over Foolish Wand-waving with Filius. Have had this discussion many times before, and no doubt will have it many more times in future, but can think of little else to talk about, other than to ask him if he Likes being Small - which, I realise, lacks Tact.

Happy absence of Homework to be marked - this situation will alter only too soon - leads me to suggest to Hermione that I return the favour of a Massage; she replies that there is Nothing she would like Better - should think not, indeed - and we retire to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

September 3rd - First-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws before lunch; Speech is customarily affecting, naturally, but Dramatic Pause now proved to be complete mistake due to incessant giggling of small girls, and impertinent enquiry from studious-looking specimen, of indeterminate gender, as to whether I have Forgotten the Words?

No, I have Not.

But find it very difficult to continue Speech, as studious child continues to gaze at me in apparent admiration with quill held ready, no doubt, to copy down my every word.

Leave class in unusually shattered state; mood is not improved when, on entering quarters in search of peace, I am instead confronted with Mrs Perzil, who has come to collect Laundry.

(Query: Why is it that House Elves, so eager to serve in every other way, should be unable to accept articles of clothing? Can only feel that this attitude displays a most uncommendable degree of laziness, as inability to handle clothes provides convenient escape from large portion of household chores. (Memo: Do not mention this to Hermione.) Surely equally excellent, and indeed extended, service could be provided if they were unable to accept, for example, furniture?)

(Answer: comes there none.) 

Presence of Mrs Perzil is not conducive to peace, as she has unfortunate tendency to Gossip, and is much exercised at present moment over rumours of Werewolf activity at Shrieking Shack. Am fully aware, as is she, that this is merely Lupin displaying his more unnatural tendencies, but understandable reluctance to become involved leads me to maintain discreet silence.

She unfortunately interprets this as interest, and regales me with further tales of indiscretion, adultery, and the like. If even one tenth of what she tells me is true, should be very tempted to slip Sedative Potion into village water supply and have, in fact, started to list ingredients - Valerian, obviously, but perhaps also Hops? - when silence descends and I realise she has left.

Am very grateful.

Am less grateful to discover that returned clean laundry contains 13 odd socks, all black, but not one single pair, and proceed to lunch in very poor frame of mind indeed.

However, unfortunate incident after lunch results in visit to Hospital Wing for most of Gryffindor third-year, where Madam Pomfrey informs me that most of them shall remain speechless for several days; so day is not complete disaster. 


	5. Chapter 5

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September 4th - Wholly extraordinary turn of events, started by my being unable to avoid seat next to Sybil at Dinner, during which she talks incessantly without, apparently, drawing breath. 

She says that I am looking Well, and that Married Life obviously Suits Me, and that I was set to become an Old Buffer until Hermione Took me In Hand.

I am stunned into silence at these remarks, and am entirely unable to reply, but she continues anyway.

Hermione is Blooming, positively Glowing, she claims, and then makes odd remark about approaching Happy Event. Can only assume that this is Sybil's obscure way of congratulating me on marriage. She then proceeds to talk about babies for duration of meal but I do not, naturally, pay any attention, although I am unable to avoid hearing comments on Pattering of Tiny Feet, and the Joy of New Life.

Return to rooms for enjoyable evening researching Memory-Adjustment Potions for proposed learned article - still no homework requiring attention, thankfully -and am pleased with progress, when I look up and observe that Hermione is knitting a Glove.

Glove turns out, on further inspection, to be infant-sized Cardigan.

Sybil's remarks return to me with full force, and I am entirely poleaxed. Can it be that Sybil has made another accurate prediction?

Prospect of impending Fatherhood is far from displeasing, and am, indeed, inclined to be extremely pleased indeed, but can only wish that Hermione had informed me of this development herself. Am somewhat hurt at this lack of consideration on her part - but naturally maintain discreet silence on subject, as she clearly wishes to introduce it In her Own Time - and retire to bed early in distinctly bad mood. Do not, however, sleep a wink all night. 


	6. Chapter 6

_September 5th_ - Morning eventually arrives, along with unpleasant memories of previous night. Have no intention of broaching subject of Children with Hermione, after her inexplicable decision not to inform me of the fact that she is Expecting. Can only hope that she mentions it before the Birth.

Descend to Breakfast in very black frame of mind, to find entire female staff twittering in delight over small item of knitwear produced by my own dear Wife. Think it Odd that she proceeds to wrap it in stout brown paper and attach it to leg of post-owl, but ways of Women are undoubtedly most Mysterious.

Consume porridge and coffee but feel that they may as well have been wormwood and fluxweed, such is my frame of mind.

Until Poppy asks if I have seen the Utterly Darling Cardie that dear Hermione has knitted for recently-produced Potter offspring, strangely named Hogsmeade.

All becomes Clear, and am much relieved at reprieve from immediate fatherhood; wax lyrical on subject of Naming Babies after place of Conception - can only assume that this strange habit is derived from Muggles - before Hermione appears and asks Why I am acting so Weird Today?

Am compelled to tell her exactly what has been on my mind since last night, at which she laughs heartily and remarks that At Least she doesn't have That to worry about Just Yet.

Am extremely glad to hear it. 


	7. Chapter 7

_September 5th_ - Am very, very glad that today is Saturday, and do not have to face students or colleagues or, indeed, leave quarters at all.

Can only feel that some of the less pleasant events in my life, such as joining Death Eaters, leaving Death Eaters, and returning to Death Eaters as Spy, were mere doddle compared with potential trauma of being seen in this condition.

Should very much like to blame Hermione but am only too aware that decision was entirely my own. After all, she was quite right to recommend strange product known as Toothpaste; it is clearly superior to Mrs Krest's All-Purpose Caries Corrector, with added benefit that it does not stain teeth unfortunate shade of yellow.

Am therefore easily swayed by her argument that Shampoo will be far superior to Coal Tar Potion of own brewing, which has been successful for many years in controlling rampant Dandruff but less than effective in terms of Cleanliness.

Retire to Shower with bottle and follow instructions carefully.

(Query - Why rinse and repeat? Surely if product is to be effective, it will be so on first application?)

(Answer - Comes there none, but reflect that if one repeat is desirable, two will be more so, and act on this idea without delay.)

Am also baffled by product name, as seems clear that Shampoo is for application only to Head and not , as name would seem to imply, Shoulders. Remainder of stay in Bathroom is dominated by ponderings on mysterious ways of Muggles.

On returning to Bedroom, Hermione becomes Busy with Brush, Comb, and strange gusts of Hot Air from wand, and I become inexplicably keen to see Results. Dear Hermione, oddly, is less than enthusiastic about this and, on my attempting to pass her in order to view self in Mirror, becomes very nearly violent.

Reason for this becomes clear when she tackles me to the floor and I look up to catch sight of myself in Mirror; which remarks, drily, that Conditioner might be a good idea Next Time.

Am forced to admit that Mirror may be Right.

In the extremely unlikely event of there being a Next Time. 


	8. Chapter 8

_September 7th_ - Hair still inclined to be bushy, for want of a better word; dear Hermione appears to feel that blame is all hers, and upon my disagreeing, becomes Tearful and claims that she can do Nothing Right. Feel that this is overstating the case somewhat but when I attempt to say so, she retorts that I don't Care, No-one Cares, and she Hates me; she then retires to Bedroom in great haste, slamming door soundly behind her.

Door transpires, on further investigation, to be firmly locked by both Muggle and Magical means.

Am entirely discomposed by this turn of events, and feel somewhat at a loss, but recall that Albus has suggested I join him and other, select, members of staff, for Tea and Talk this afternoon.

Am by no means keen on this, but reflect that due to current state of affairs re. Hermione, I am less than welcome in my own quarters, so decide I may as well Go.

Do not, however, expect to enjoy it.

(Later) Was entirely correct in attitude toward social occasion; am resolved never, ever, to accept hospitality from Albus again.

Tea And Talk turns out to be impromptu Training Session on the Importance of Communication, Knowing one's Customers, and Creating a Positive Mindset.

(Query - Has Albus been importing Muggle literature again, or has this breed of infantile psychobabble infiltrated the Magical world?)

(Answer - is equally terrifying either way)

Am immediately suspicious when Albus introduces himself as our Facilitator, and stop listening altogether when he exhorts us to Upskill our Colleagues. Am intrigued, however, by concept that 82% of communication comes from Body Language. 

(Query - How did they work that out to such a degree of exactness?)

(Answer - remains unknown, but am tortured by mental image of unfortunate subject having every muscle spasm analysed, no matter how minute. Resolve to work harder on Sneer in - probably vain - hope that message it conveys may be entirely unmistakeable.)

Return to quarters to find that dear Hermione has transformed our spacious, and extremely comfortable, bed into two small cots of unimaginable lumpiness.

(Memo -Ways of Women are undoubtedly most Mysterious.)

Decide that now is, perhaps, not the best time to educate her in finer points of Communication Skills, and retire to lumpy cot in discreet silence.


	9. Chapter 9

_September 8th_ - Day does not begin well, as dear Hermione is still in extremely Bad Mood. Feel that this does not bode well for successful teaching of third-year Arithmancy, and am unfortunately moved to tell her this as we part after breakfast.

She responds with sharp Slap to my face, and departs with great vigour.

Am entirely stunned by this, not least due to public nature of confrontation - busy corridor full of gaping students - and am not comforted to see Hagrid approach, wearing knowing Grin.

What, he demands humorously, have I been doing to upset Hermione This Time?

Attempt to conceal natural embarassment with feeble Joke, to the effect that She must have Werewolf Blood, since the Full Moon always affects her this way.

He chuckles at this, which is at least somewhat gratifying, then enquires, entirely unexpectedly, if her Monthly Visitor is due?

Am determined to be Modern Husband, willing and able to discuss all aspects of Married Life at the drop of a hat, so suppress surprise at nature of question - also immediate retort that it is none of either of our businesses, anyway - and merely reply that, Yes, It is.

Am then proved to be very Ancient Husband indeed when Hagrid explains reason behind recent Bad Mood, and mentions that Madame Maxime is Much The Same.

Reflect that female physiology is undoubtedly very, very strange, and have embarked on disturbing train of thought about possible effects of hormones on euphemistically big-boned Madame, when Hagrid draws me back to myself by declaring that Chocolate is the Only Thing.

But not Medical Chocolate. _Proper_ Chocolate, in a box. With a Bow.

And Apologise, he adds.

For what? I am unable to avoid asking, at which he looks hunted and replies, Everything, before departing hastily.

(Query - Might this not be the explanation for the various injuries recently sported by our Care of Magical Creatures master, which in the last year alone have included several black eyes, broken wrists and ribs, and something referred to only as Groin Strain?)

(Answer - Does not bear thinking about.)

Morning passes by almost unnoticed, and Lunch is by-passed in favour of swift trip to Hogsmeade, where I purchase the very best that Honeyduke's have to offer in the way of Chocolate, before returning to Hogwarts and concealing obscenely beribboned parcel in desk lest it be spotted by Anyone at all. Can only hope that shop assistant was new to area, and did not recognise me.

Parcel is presented to Hermione in privacy of own quarters after dinner, along with Heartfelt Apology for Everything; she becomes Tearful, and declares that she doesn't Deserve me, and I'm too Good for her, and Everything is Just So Awful, and she Loves me So Much.

Feel that I am now more than qualified to cope with such effusions, and produce secondary, smaller parcel, in shape of Heart.

Suffice it to say that Bed is restored to former size and degree of comfort.


	10. Chapter 10

_September 9th_ - Am delighted to receive, at breakfast, invitation to Speak at prestigious Potions Conference in Paris, All Expenses Paid, Spouses Welcome. Am less delighted, however, that Invitation is dropped in porridge by exotically-plumed owl, no doubt French variety.

Morning passes uneventfully after this, although am inclined to despair at quality of work produced by N.E.W.T. class, who by this time should surely be able to compose written work without dotting I's with circles or, worse, hearts.

Mrs Perzil returns Laundry at lunch-time, and I am required to Speak to her, as dear Hermione claims to be Too Busy. She is less than pleased when I enquire as to whereabouts of 13 missing black socks, becomes definitely Cross when I complain that Underpants are Not White Enough, and leaves in something of a Huff.

Dear Hermione then suggests that I am becoming somewhat Obsessed with state of Underpants, and claims that there wouldn't be a problem if I would only wear Black Silk Boxers.

Respond with well-worn argument - Hermione having made this suggestion many times before - that Boxers are Too Dangly, at which she Sniggers, and makes extremely coarse remark.

Attempt, successfully, to distract her from further discussion of Underwear, by mentioning projected Paris trip. She is, unsurprisingly, extremely Keen, and makes reference to Most Romantic City in the World. We will have to Fly, she adds.

Absolutely Not, I reply, dear Hermione's skills on a broomstick leaving rather a lot to be desired.

No, No! she cries, she means By Plane. And we can stay in a Muggle Hotel. It will, she claims, be Fun.

Am somewhat appalled at what constitutes her idea of fun, but can see little point in arguing, and spend remainder of lunch-time composing reply to Organiser of Conference, to the effect that Self and Spouse are Glad to Accept; Hermione, meanwhile, undertakes to make all necessary Muggle arrangements. Am much relieved to hear this, as have previous experience of attempting to deal with non-Magical affairs. (Memo: Must remember that a Credit Card is a very different thing from a Birthday Card.)

Spend most of evening planning contents of Speech; this proves so distracting that it is very late indeed before I retire.


	11. Chapter 11

_September 10th_ - Am shaken awake by Hermione, with loud assertion that I am Late; am glad to have been woken, as was in midst of unpleasant Dream about being drowned in a Cauldron by Potter, but do not feel that this is a good start to the day.

This impression is confirmed by first class of day, which is First-Years. Am constantly interrupted by questions from studious individual, noticed in previous class, who reminds me very much of dear Hermione when she first attended Hogwarts; decide, however, that it would probably be unwise to mention this to her, especially as child appears to be male - am not entirely sure, and requesting child's name is not helpful, as child turns out to be called Dozy Gamp, which I find Odd.

(Query: Why is it that so many Parents, apparently sane and intelligent in every other aspect, are entirely deserted by Common Sense when it comes to the Naming of their children?)

(Answer: Comes there none, but am reminded of Mr and Mrs Knutt, neighbours of long-ago, who elected to call their daughter Hazel. Also recall recent addition to Potter family, inadvisably named after supposed site of Conception, with no apparent regard for the effect this information will have on the child when it becomes known to his so-called School Friends.)

Become aware at this point that I am dwelling unhealthily on Potter offspring, and Sneer at small, but unmistakeably female, Hufflepuff, who looks startled - as well she might.

Mention issue of Names to dear Hermione, who remarks that she once knew a girl whose initials spelt Poo. Can only hope that, in the possible event of us having a Child, at least one of us retains a shred of sensibility.

Entire evening is filled with Marking. Must remember to buy Red Ink. 


	12. Chapter 12

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September 19th - Resume Diary after long and deplorable interlude, due to severe and disabling bout of Flu, referred to by dear Hermione as Just a Bit of A Cold. Feel that this is understatement taken to the extreme, but am entirely unable to argue the point coherently, since I am confined to Bed, and unable to speak without bringing on prolonged fit of Coughing. Life becomes one long blur of Pepper-Up Potion, Friar's Balsam, and Handkerchiefs.

Hermione attempts to administer Muggle remedy known as Night Nurse, which I find I am unable to refuse. Shortly after taking it, I find that I am unable to do anything whatsoever, and have to be assisted to Bed, where I remain for some time.

After several days of this, I rally slightly and demand to be allowed to return to Teaching - can only shudder at the thought of Havoc being wrecked upon Classroom in my absence, during which Albus has been taking my classes - but Hermione intervenes and insists that I need Looking After.

This involves staying in bed for several more days, being served with such Nourishing Delicacies as Junket, Broth, and Calve's Foot Jelly, by succession of terrified House Elves. Patience wears thin after extremely short space of time, and I find myself enquiring, rhetorically, whether I Look like an Invalid.

To which House Elf replies, surprisingly, that No, I look more like a Greasy Old Git in a Nightshirt.

Am entirely stunned by this reply, but then observe that Elf is very odd specimen called, I believe, Dobby, and merely pass Handkerchief to mop up blood from injuries which he instantly inflicts upon himself.

Upshot of all this is that I finally return to classes today in more than usually cheerful frame of mind, feeling excessively well rested and extremely eager to resume Teaching Duties. This feeling, unfortunately, does not last beyond first class.

(Query: Why do I continue to teach, when it is quite clear that all my efforts to communicate the Marvels of Potion-Making to Next Generation go entirely unregarded?)

(Answer: Because, of course, I live in the eternal hope that I may encounter an Intellect to equal my own. (Unlikely, I know - dear Hermione excepted) Also, is really quite enviable position - well-paid, short hours, long holidays, very many opportunities for research. But do not intend to let anyone know I feel this way.) 

Am, unsurprisingly, completely Exhausted by end of day, but do not resent fact that I must dress Smartly and Go Out in the Evening, today being dear Hermione's Birthday. We proceed to Hogsmeade Village Hall, where internationally-renowned String Quartet are performing, and pass entirely enjoyable evening there.

Evening is somewhat enlivened when it is discovered that First Violin has left Music at home, and is forced to Apparate home in order to procure it before Concert can commence, but this is merely a small hiccup in an otherwise excellent Performance.

Honesty compels me to report that I did, in fact, fall asleep during final piece, causing Hermione to remark that it first time she has heard Mozart scored for Strings and Falling Body; but this does not seem to mar her enjoyment in any way, and she later remarks that it is the Best Birthday she has Ever had.

Am extremely glad to hear it.


	13. Chapter 13

_September 20th_ - Am much relieved that today is Saturday, and am able to stay in bed Late to recover from exertions of previous evening. Am less than pleased, however, when, upon eventually entering Great Hall for belated breakfast, I find myself seated next to Sybil, who remarks that I look Terrible, and that Flu is No Joke at Our Age.

Am extremely insulted by this, not least because Sybil is at least ten years my senior, but am prevented from making sharp retort by Hermione's cheerful declaration that she is Going Shopping. Is there, she enquires, anything she can get me while she is Out?

Can think of many replies I could make to this - most of them relating to Sybil, and sarcastic in the extreme, Ear Plugs being one example - but restrain myself and merely place order for Red Ink and Black Socks.

Remainder of day spent in Marking - remarkable how much of this there should be, after really quite brief absence on my part - and writing Speech for rapidly-approaching French Conference, until Hermione returns, heavily laden with bags and packages of all descriptions.

Am most satisfied with purchases she has made for me - both in terms of Quality (Socks) and Quantity (Ink) -but become suspicious when she attempts to hide large parcel, bearing unmistakeable insignia of Honeyduke's, which is Croaking.

What, I demand to know, is the Meaning of This?

At which she becomes evasive and murmurs about Chocolate Frogs and Special Offers. Am not convinced by this, dear Hermione being no more fond of Chocolate Frogs than I am, but put it down to Hormones - perhaps she is stocking up for next Full Moon? - and say no more on the subject.

Retire to bed extremely early, in the (probably vain) hope that Sleep will restore me somewhat, and prevent further insulting remarks from colleagues. Cannot help but feel, however, that Sybil will continue to say anything she likes, without any reference whatsoever to the Truth.


	14. Chapter 14

_September 21st _- Find myself awake at unusually early hour, due, no doubt, to retiring so early last night, and am entirely unable to get back to sleep. Observing that:

A) It is an extremely pleasant day, and

B) Hermione is also Wide Awake,

I suggest that we Go for a Walk, to which dear Hermione happily Agrees.

Entirely enjoyable period ensues, during which we stroll around the lake, holding hands and exchanging terms of endearment.

Should be very, very sorry indeed if this was Observed by anyone.

Return to Great Hall for breakfast, and am extremely careful to Scowl forbiddingly, lest anyone should suspect that I am in a Good Mood.

This proves unnecessary when Hermione reveals that we will be spending the day with Potter, his strange wife (whose name I cannot for the life of me recall), and their vile offspring.

Good Mood promptly evaporates, and Scowl becomes forbidding in the extreme, but am unwilling to argue after so pleasant a morning, and so it is that I find myself, albeit reluctantly, Apparating into Potter residence, along with Hermione and large package of Chocolate Frogs (these delicacies being, apparently, a great favourite of Potter's, and entirely unobtainable in his local Shop).

Greeted by Potter - has not changed a bit - his wife - name still escapes me, but has unnaturally large eyes - and elder of their offspring - precocious brat of three or so, named Lily, who has one finger permanently inserted in nostril, and appears entirely unmoved by Sneer I send her way.

Latest offspring is displayed - very small, pink, and ugly, but am able to say, truthfully, that He Looks Like His Father - which at least has advantage of sounding like a compliment.

Lunch follows, during which Lily is admonished to Stop Picking her Nose, but merely replies that she is Not Picking it, she is Putting the Bogey Back, which I find amusing; but manage to stifle laughter upon catching Hermione's eye, which is Disapproving. Infant Hogsmeade is fed - eyes are out on stalks at this, metaphorically speaking, but no-one else appears to bat an eyelid, so attempt to act as though appearance of naked chests at lunch table is common-place occurrence.

Following lunch, Potter, wife (wish I could remember her name), and Hermione retire to corner for Gossip and Reminiscence; can hear gales of laughter, also references to Polyjuice and Robes on Fire, but do not like to intrude.

Am thus left alone with Lily, and am quite at a loss as to what I am supposed to Do with her - until she asks me, very Seriously, if I would like to see her Train?

Am not at all sure that I would, but feel it safer to agree - she looks as though she could become Violent if thwarted - and so afternoon is spent recreating route of Hogwart's Express on living-room floor - which I find strangely enjoyable.

Game is broken up by advent of Tea, during which Lily sits on my knee - finger in nose replaced by thumb in mouth, which I find an Improvement - and Hermione holds Hogsmeade. Conversation becomes general, until distressing smell from direction of Hermione causes me to suggest, I hope not too pointedly, that it is Time We Were Going. Hogsmeade is therefore returned - not without some small relief on Hermione's part, I notice - farewell's are exchanged, and we return Home.

Hermione is oddly thoughtful for duration of evening - as, indeed, am I - and, on coming to bed, remarks that Children Really Make a Family, Don't they?

Am forced to admit that I agree entirely, and we discuss Making a Family for some time before coming to a mutually satisfying conclusion and, finally, falling asleep.

Sleep is broken by sudden remembrance, at about three a.m., that Potter's wife's name is Luna. 


	15. Chapter 15

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September 22nd - Awake to the sound of dear Hermione declaring that The Frogs are back, and am somewhat startled - possibly a Nightmare about yesterday's events at Potter's house? - until she adds that It's all gone Woggly, and I realise that she is, in fact, still sound Asleep.

Attempt to wake her is met with declaration, in no uncertain terms, that That is the Last Time you get a Green Map out of me, Mate; at which I decide it is probably best to let her sleep on. Spend remainder of time in bed reflecting that, disturbing as her sleep-talking can be at times, it is infinitely preferable to Snoring - which has disturbed my rest on many occasions and, more than once, led me to fear for her life as she appears to stop Breathing altogether.

Abandon reflection and decide to Get Up - which decision is met with assertion that The Helicopters are on the Duvet in the Corner - and go for early breakfast.

This proves to be less than satisfactory as I am forced to sit with Albus, who informs me that

A)My Classroom is to be refitted today (Why? Is more than satisfactory for use by idiot students.)

B)He is planning an Olde Tyme Christmas Fayre, at which

C)I will be providing Refreshments

On my questioning the last point, he merely smiles, twinkles, and claims that There's no-one who can brew a Cuppa like You.

Am utterly lost for words at this characterisation of my many Qualifications in the field of Potions-Making, although am forced to admit that I can make an excellent cup of Tea when required to do so. But do not desire this skill to be generally known.

Proceed to first class of day but have barely begun Lecture on Properties of Gillyweed, when assortment of burly men in ill-fitting trousers wander in and begin to make remarks such as Where do you want us, Guv?, and Cor, about time you had a refit here, Innit?

Direct them towards back of Classroom and request Class to gather round Blackboard for continuation of Lecture; but this proves Impossible due to level of noise produced by Workmen - or Work_man_, since only one of them is doing any Work, while the rest of them stand around, sucking their teeth and drinking Tea (At least they did not ask me to brew it for them.) - and cancel all Classes for rest of Day, setting current class three-feet of Homework on Furniture-Modifying Potions.

Return to quarters with not-unpleasant prospect of Free Day before me, but recall that prestigious Potions Conference is fast approaching - this weekend, I realise, which causes brief moment of Panic - and resolve to spend day in polishing Speech.

Am, therefore, utterly horrified to realise, when it is Lunchtime, that all I have done is to lay out writing equipment in immaculate order, and sharpen several pencils.

Return from Lunch - which is more than usually excellent - and tell myself sternly that Speech Must be Finished This Afternoon.

Wake up at tea-time to discover that have produced really rather excellent sketch of View from bedroom window, extensive Shopping List for French Potions shops, and excruciating Crick in neck from unfortunate sleeping position.

Day not complete Waste of Time, though, as had no Classes to teach, and dear Hermione proves most enthusiastic about continuing Family-Making discussions.


	16. Chapter 16

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September 23rd - Very short entry today. Am in Shock.

Mrs Perzil returned Laundry in unusually Cheerful mood. Thought she had forgotten about complaints, re. Underpants not being White Enough.

Until checked Laundry, and discovered that Underpants, far from being White, were now delicate shade of Pink.

Fear that I may have lost the will to live; this fear, thankfully, alleviated by dear Hermione, but ability to Discuss Family Making very much impaired by vision of self in Pink Underwear.

Pink.

Pink.

Oh, dear Gods…


	17. Chapter 17

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September 24th - Very distressing morning, during which attempts to Teach in recently-refitted Classroom are thwarted by inability to Find anything, since all ingredients have been returned to shelves in apparently random order, with no regard whatsoever to my painstakingly-created system of filing.

(_Query:_ Is it too much to ask, that properties such as Vintage, Nationality and Colour should be taken into account when shelving potions ingredients? Not to mention Size of Container, and Possibility of Harm to Potions Master If Spilled?)

(_Answer, only too clearly: _Yes. Should very much like to demonstrate to (or, indeed, _on_) imbecile responsible for this mess what would happen if, say, large bottle of Bubotuber Pus were to slip from high shelf, where it has been precariously balanced.)

Am forced, once again, to Dismiss all classes for remainder of day, and set about Tidying Up; but progress is much impaired by tendency to Worry about

A)Necessity to write Speech - currently entirely non-existent, due to total lack of Inspiration - for Potions Conference, which is now rather less than seventy-two hours away, and

B)Unfortunate Underwear Situation.

Should be very hard pressed indeed to say which of these preys more heavily on my mind, and so it is in a very Bad Mood that I attend Lunch in the Great Hall. Noise of students seems more intolerable than ever, and am sure that I reduce small Hufflepuff to tears with Scowl, before dear Hermione comes to sit beside me, and asks, Is Anything Wrong?

Do not feel any regret whatsoever for the diatribe to which she is subjected following this singularly pointless question; am forced to admit, however, that it was quite unnecessary to refer to her as Bossy, Know-It-All, or Bushy-Haired (especially as this last quite untrue, due to liberal use of Muggle products in combination with Magic).

Fortunately, dear Hermione in very Good Mood (must check phases of Moon to see how long this can reasonably be expected to last) and declares that It Will All be Alright on the Night, before cancelling all afternoon Classes, and helping me to re-organise my stores.

Am much moved by this, and inclined to become Emotional, but fortunately this is prevented by Hermione, who produces large bottle of Ace Laundry Bleach, and proceeds to make free with one of my larger Cauldrons, meanwhile proposing several interesting Ideas on the possibilities of integrating the therapeutic properties of both Muggle and Magical medicines.

So it is that by bedtime, I find that all of my most pressing worries have been resolved - Underwear, in particular, is extremely satisfying shade of White - and am able to both Thank, and Apologise To, dear Hermione with great Sincerity; following which, we Discuss Family Making, in great depth and at even greater length.


End file.
